


Let Me Come Home

by evansweaters



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Sheriff Steve Rogers, Werewolf Steve Rogers, are hallmark and avengers crossovers a thing? because if so this would be one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:35:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24082954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evansweaters/pseuds/evansweaters
Summary: After years at a dead-end job shouldering everyone’s expectations for you but your own, you’re finally free to be whoever you want, go wherever you want. That is, until a series of unfortunate events strand you in Amber’s End, where the sheriff – and notoriously unmated pack alpha – decides to take you in.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 23
Kudos: 148





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> eep! my very first steve series! or rather, mini-series since the plan right now is no more than four or five parts. but still! this is a fic for a challenge on tumblr where someone can gift you two gifs, one to start the story, and one to end it. if you want to read more about the challenge and see the gifs i got, check out the masterlist for this fic on tumblr (@evansweaters)! really, really hope you enjoy this!

The town of Amber’s End is a quiet one — has been as long as anyone can remember. Even Steve Rogers, their sheriff of fifteen years, can’t recall a time that trouble beyond a couple unruly pups had made it to his desk. Still, he takes his duties seriously. At the start of every day, he makes rounds, a watchful eye on each business as it opens. And at noon, six, and midnight sharp, he shifts into his wolf form and patrols the forests that circle the town.

It’s Friday afternoon in a deep winter, the type that brought knee-high snow and teeth-chattering cold as early as November. A fresh layer of snow yields beneath his paws and he looks across the forest sprawl for disturbances. Usually, they’re far and few between. Most Amber’s End folk live near Main Street to keep the pack close, so it’s uncommon for anyone to venture this far without a reason. Even more so in the dismal weather. But today, Steve is surprised to pick up something — _someone_ — at the far edge of the woods.

His first whiff of them is brief; enough to flare his nostrils, but lacking the potency for his senses to follow. He pauses still, head turning to discern the source. Then, a breeze kicks up — snares the aroma and makes it stick. There’s cinnamon and ginger, a hint of nutmeg too. Homey, but pungent scents that strike him, half because of how good they are, and half because he’s never smelled them before.

Peculiar, when Steve makes a habit of knowing every wolf in his town.

Just like that, he’s on the hunt, moving as fast as his legs can carry him through the thick of bare bushes and trees. He hears Bucky scolding him already for running headfirst into danger, no heed for protocol or his own safety. But, something in the scent’s light profile makes him think there’s nothing to worry about. 

When he clears the trees around a far west meadow, he’s inclined to believe he’s right.

What he finds is you: a wolf barely half his size with dark brown fur and golden streaks down your back and hind legs. Between your size and the quality of your scent, it isn’t hard to work out that you’re an omega — unmated, going by the markless neck — and his interest is piqued. Not many omegas come through this area alone. 

Just as he sees you, you see him and your body locks up. You’re not surprised to see another werewolf around — the area’s known for its dense population of your kind — but you’ve never seen one that size, even among your pack growing up. You don’t even need to get close to know it’s an Alpha, his presentation as visible in his presence as it is in his woodsy smell. 

The fact that you aren’t in his pack means he can’t speak to you when you’re like this. But, it’s obvious that he’s inspecting you, assessing the foreign wolf that’s appeared before him. The scrutiny makes you just as wary of him as he is of you. Threatened alphas are a bad bunch, and you don’t want to do anything that’ll provoke him. 

That vigilance only grows as he starts to close the distance, deliberate steps until he’s only feet away and towering over you. You acknowledge his status in turn. Head lowered, body arched, you’re nearly shrinking away; not afraid, but cautious. The Alpha responds by circling you, deep blue eyes tracing you from snout to back paw as though deciphering you from that alone. Now that he’s so close, you make out a steady, rumbling growl every time the wind picks up, which only compounds the growing tension.

You can’t seem to figure him out.

There’s another muted moment of inspection, then suddenly the Alpha goes from circling distance to inches away. His nose meets a patch of fur below your jaw, pressing down with such impact it moves your head, and it comes so abruptly you have to assume it’s pure instinct. Even the most controlled Alphas can’t stop the feral tendencies. And like him, you react without thinking, try to pull away. The shift earns a warning gnash of his teeth that commands you even without words. _Stay put._

He’s soaking you in, likely to memorize the new smell. It dawns on you then that he’s probably not just _an_ alpha, but _the_ alpha — Amber’s End leader and protector. It would explain the caution, the way he vets you and the threat you pose. A few more minutes pass tensely, his breath hot on your throat as he drags his snout down the length of it. Then, he’s back at his circling distance, less intense and surly, and giving you a relenting look.

_You can stay._

When he’s certain he’s understood, the Alpha tips his head towards a green Jeep at the end of the meadow. You nod once to answer his unspoken question, which is all it takes to start him walking you to it. Once there, he gives you his back - an offer of privacy - and you take the moment to shift and tug on your clothes. You clear your throat when you’re decent and he turns to find you bundled up from head to toe. If he were human, he might chuckle - even with werewolves running hot, this area’s known for its unusually brutal chill and it seems you did your homework. He can’t see more than your eyes under all the layers, but it doesn’t do much to stop the scent of you wafting out to meet him. He’s oddly pleased about that.

Meanwhile, you take him in, less on edge than earlier, but not completely settled. Being human while he stays a wolf makes you more vulnerable than you’d already been, and you’re uneasy, not knowing what he’s planning next. You shift on your heels in a nervous tick and quickly, he picks up on your nerves. Shifting up on his legs to take a running stance, the Alpha glances at your car expectantly. You follow the gaze and stare for a spell before you realize he means for you to drive while he runs along to guide the way. Briefly, you consider refusing —- pack alpha or not, you don’t know where he could be taking you. But, it doesn’t bode well to reject his authority so soon after receiving permission to be here. So, you nod, swallow thickly, then climb into your car for the ride. 

It turns out to be a short one, which you’re grateful for. And your nerves wane some when you realize that he’s just taking you to _his_ car – a large Dodge truck emblazoned with the county sheriff seal.

Like you, the larger wolf’s first step is to take on his human form, disappearing behind his vehicle while you get out of yours. When he emerges, fully shifted and dressed, you nearly lose your breath. The sight of him shouldn’t surprise you — you know that any wolf with that much presence would naturally have that translate into their human form. But, you still aren’t prepared for how utterly imposing this man is. Hair grown dark from the season, he easily boasts a height of six feet and then some, and shoulders broad enough to fill a doorway. He’s pulled on a t-shirt, flannel, and slack jeans that do nothing to hide the muscle that bounds him, and when he watches you through the hair falling into his eyes, you feel yourself tremble. Alphas are intimidating as it is, but him — he’s something _else_. “What’s your name?” His voice is as impactful as he is, and it takes you a moment to work up the nerve to answer.

When you do, he nods curtly. “Steve Rogers - I’m the sheriff here. You just passing through?”

You nod back, the action a lot less short coming from you as you fold your hands in front of you. “Yeah - doing a little road trip and this is one of my stops. I was hoping to get a room for a night before I head on.” You don’t offer more than that, and he doesn’t press you to. No probing questions about what you’re doing on the road, no offhand comments about being on your own — just acceptance in the form of a hum and a glance down the road leading into town. You have to hope all his pack members are as gracious.

“Alright,” he says finally, eyes returning to your face. “I can show you the way. The roads this time of year can be a handful if you’re not used to it, so I don’t want you wandering. Hop back in your car and we’ll go.”

The second ride behind him proves to be a lot less daunting than the first. You take advantage of the broken tension to take in the sights. Amber’s End is known for being isolated and close knit, but you’d never heard about how picturesque the area is too. The woods grow less dense the closer you get to civilization, evergreens blurring to nothing in your periphery; but the idyllic nature stays put. The first buildings you see are quaint and comfortable, like something out of a 90’s film, and you find that’s a running theme as you follow Steve down what seems to be their main road.

For one in the afternoon, it’s surprisingly empty, the only signs of life people you catch through windows and briefly cracked doors. But, you imagine this is normal for them – this slow, even pace. It intrigues you, and you make a note to do some exploring once you’re settled in.

From there, it doesn’t take long for Steve to get you to the Hummingbird Motel; Amber’s End’s first and only lodging in town. For a place established in 1935, it’s quite modern; exterior designed and painted in ways that boast knowledge of industry trends. Whether the rooms reflect that is to be determined, but you’re admittedly eager to find out. Steve pulls into the parking lot first, but doesn’t drive into a spot. Instead, he makes room for you and rolls down his window to get you to do the same. “I’ve got to head back in, but the folks who run this place are real nice - you’ll be in good hands.”

You smile at him from your window. “Thank you - I appreciate the help.”

For the first time since you’ve met, Steve smiles as well, the spread of his mouth giving his rugged face a more handsome quality. It’s almost hard to believe it’s the same man who’d so stoically assessed you moments before. “‘Course. That’s what I’m here for. You take care.” His final goodbye comes in a wave before he peels out of the lot. You keep watching him until he turns the corner and disappears out of sight.

 _Not a bad start_ , you think to yourself, slipping out the driver’s seat to grab your duffle from the trunk. The motel lobby is stark empty when you enter, which gives you an eerie feeling you’re not particularly fond of. When an old woman – Peggy, she shares in a winsome British accent – finally emerges at the front desk, you soon realize that that feeling may have been instinct teasing out the bad news: you had just missed the last vacant room.

You’re disappointed, for sure, but nothing you’re not getting used to. You’ve made a point, after all, to hit out-of-the-way towns —- the kinds of places that don’t always have the most _forgiving_ accommodations. So, you’ve slept in your car more times than you ever planned for now, and in varying degrees of weather to boot. You wave off Peggy’s apologetic look with a reassuring grin before returning to your Jeep to leave the motel behind.

**////**

A few hours later, it’s the dinner rush at Ruby’s Diner, and you’re scrolling through an article with a french fry in your free hand and a bag of souvenirs beside you in the booth. After leaving the Hummingbird, you’d done the rounds on Main Street as planned and were pleasantly surprised by the range of goods it had to offer. 

You tried not to get much, but couldn’t steer away from a few trinkets for your parents and the friends keeping up with your wayward travels. Now, all that’s left for you and Amber’s End is the rest of your cheeseburger dinner ( _outrageously_ good) and a chilly night in the backseat of your Jeep —- a night you’ve prepared for with a blanket from your last shop.

You’re mid-swipe and bite when you hear your name from above you. You don’t need to turn to know who it is; that piney smell and rumbling voice are impossible to forget or misplace, and your cheeks are already warm when you turn to find Steve looking down on you.

In the time since you last saw him, he’s changed into a different shirt – a blue denim button down that fits him well – and found himself a jacket. It’s thinner than what you’d expect for a place so cold, but your guess is that he barely feels it, big as he is. You smile wordlessly to greet him. 

“I thought that was you,” he muses, as if he hadn’t picked you out by scent alone. “How’s the rest of your day been? Settled in alright?”

You lift a shoulder in a shrug, smile still intact. “Hasn’t been too bad! Just missed a room at the Hummingbird, but I’m making for it with a little retail therapy and some good french fries.”

You expect him to respond with something equally light, but Steve’s expression turns sour instead. “Missed a room? You mean there were no vacancies?”

“Didn’t sound like it, but no big deal. I’ve slept in my car before, so what’s one night before I head out in the morning.”

Steve scoffs, a reaction that has you blinking at him in confusion. “Absolutely not,” he chides, hands coming up to either side of his trim waist as his gaze on you narrows. “The temperature goes double below here most nights, you can’t sleep in your _car._ ” He weighs a thought, twisting his mouth to the side before nodding when he settles on it. “How about you stay with me. I have a guest room that’s ready to go.” 

You, on the other hand, are ready to protest, brows knitting and mouth parted around the words. But, Steve beats you to the punch with a heavy glance, sternness only an Alpha can manage flashing in his eyes.

For a beat, there’s nothing but him staring, and you watching back, prepared to insist if you have to. Then, the diner door swings open ahead of some eager teens and a chill sweeps up to take the room. You stiffen so fast, your teeth grind on impact, and like clockwork, Steve’s scent stinks of sharp assuredness. When you look back, he’s got an eyebrow raised, expectant and sure, and his arms folded over his chest.

Your body sags with a sigh. “Fine,” you give in, “but _only_ for tonight.”


	2. Two

The drive to Steve’s home is short: five minutes from the diner to the base of a wooded hill, another ten to reach the peak. You follow him up a slanted stretch of road with eyes trained on his tail lights, but there are moments when your gaze strays. Sunset lingers on either side of you, framing the forest in a pretty glow. The blend of deep orange and soft pink is hard to look away from, even when you know you should be focused elsewhere, and you make your way to the top in that dizzying in-between. 

When you finally come to a stop, it’s on a patch of paved road - a welcome change to the gravel before it - in front of a large wooden cabin. Behind you, the town’s spread out in a panorama, spanning for what feels like an eternity. You can see everything from here: the humble spread of Main Street; the blues and greens of the Hummingbird; and finally, the mountains, majestic and steady beyond that.

It’s the perfect place for the pack’s alpha to be and, coincidentally, has been the home of Rogers alphas for three generations now.

That lived in feel is the first thing you notice when you make it inside. The structure is sturdy, hasn’t so much as gnarled over the years. The decor, on the other hand, is dated. Doilies on some surfaces and beer coasters on others, there are hints of Steve and the alphas who came before him throughout. Still, it’s cozy, and you say as much in an appreciative hum as you pull your bag off your shoulder. 

The first floor is all open space, and you can see most of it from your spot in the foyer. It doesn’t take long for Steve to situate you - sitting room, kitchen, bathroom, and master bedroom — before leading you towards the stairs. The walls along the staircase are full of memory; pictures of him and his loved ones that catch your eye as you ascend. You don’t have time to linger now, but make a point to look them over before you go. He’s piqued your interest too much not to be a little nosy.

The second floor, on the other hand, isn’t nearly as wide as the first. There are three doors in the whole hallway, two on either side with the third directly in front of you. He identifies each as the guest room, the storage room, and a study in that order, though he’s careful to call out that no one’s used the study in a long time. 

There’s a story there, you’re sure, but any interest in it leaves when Steve presses the guest bedroom door open. The bed inside is too big for the room, one side even touching the walls. And like the rest of the house, it’s decorated in a way that reminds you of your grandmother; a quaintness that’s endearing on a man like Steve. But, as out of place as things might be, there’s an undeniable comfort walking into that room. Steve smiles when he smells it on you – that cinnamon-sweet rise of contentment as you sink down on the bed at his behest.

“It’s a short tour,” he admits, leaning against the doorjamb, “but this is about it. You’re welcome to anything in the kitchen if you get hungry again tonight or before you go tomorrow. I’m usually up early, so in case I don’t see you, enjoy the rest of your trip. Take care of yourself.” 

It’s new to you, how easily people can offer such genuine acts of care. He hardly knows you, yet there’s no doubt that he means what he says. The thought of it makes you return that thoughtful smile. “Thank you, Steve - you’re seriously a lifesaver.”

With a final smile, he leaves you to it, shutting the door behind him.

At the click, you settle further into the bed, toeing your shoes off and sifting through your bag for house clothes and a towel. Your travels so far have been an adventure, to say the least. Just a few months ago, you’d been working a stressful entry-level job on Wall Street. Pressed skirts, sharp teeth, the days were full of routine, but not the kind that’s pleasant. Everything was uncertainty and fleeting gratification as you competed, day after day, for a seat at the table. 

Add to that the constant nagging from your family to find a mate — the endless string of blind dates, the passive-aggressive mentions of other friends’ announcements; it’s a wonder you’d endured it all as long as you had.

The decision to quit had been a long time coming. The decision to _leave_ was a whim - the first you’d had in a long time. It was freeing to even be able to make the choice and the lack of commitment only grew more intoxicating from there. You feel freer, less suffocated, and so does your wolf — it’s a change you’d desperately needed.

That feeling is what follows you into the shower as you wash away the day, and back to bed in your loose pjs. As you settle in, you have to stop yourself from sighing out loud. The mattress is as tender as a cloud, molding to your body at every point, and after weeks of motel beds (and the back of your Jeep), you fall headfirst into that comfort. Sleep comes fast and stays put.

**—-**

When you wake in the morning, the world is quiet. It’s a long way from New York’s chaos and you bask in it, eagerly at that. The sun filtering in through the window above you leaves kaleidoscope patterns on the sheets. Your hand moves to trace them for a bit, thumb to fractured color, until you’re awake enough to focus your ear to the house. 

Like outside, Steve’s cabin is tranquil, not even a hint of the alpha’s presence. Given his warning the night before, it isn’t surprising, but you’re still a little disappointed. You’d hoped to repay him for his kindness somehow — maybe with breakfast, or whatever change you could spare. But, you’ll settle for what you can get: you make a mental note to try and catch him at his office before you leave town.

Weeks on the road have made your morning routine as efficient as it gets. So once you’re completely up, you’re out the door not long after, a slice of buttered toast between your teeth to get your system going. You find your car where you left it at the end of Steve’s drive and you approach with a bounce in your step, all thanks to the night of comfortable sleep. 

Maybe you ought to grab Steve a fruit basket before you stop by.

You’re racking your memory of Main Street for bakeries or something close when you settle into the driver’s seat. But, gratitude towards Steve quickly becomes the last thing on your mind when you try to start your Jeep and get nothing but a grinding sound. It isn’t promising, but you try it again, only to get even less response before the car dies altogether. 

You groan out loud, head dropping to the steering wheel while your shoulders sink in defeat. It was inevitable, really - it’s been years since you inherited the car from your older sister and it was only through a slew of band-aid fixes that it made it this far. 

Still, the timing can’t be any worse; you don’t have a schedule to meet, but it isn’t much of a road trip if you can’t make it on the road. You fish your cell out of your jacket pocket, hoping that your service has somehow improved between last night and this morning. But, you only have a couple bars - finicky connection at best - so, you head back into Steve’s home where you’re certain you’d noticed a landline. 

When you find it, you also come across a phone book — not the newest edition, but recent enough. The list of mechanics in the area isn’t long, so you thumb in the first number you see. The phone rings only twice before someone picks up. 

“Barnes Garage?”

“Hi,” you start, perking up at the quick answer, “I just tried to start my car and it’s not working. It made this weird sound at first, then when I tried again, it just died.”

The man on the other end hums and you can hear paper rustling in the background like he’s taking notes. “Alright, we can send someone out right now to tow you in and take a look - what’s your address?”

“I don’t…actually know,” you admit, face hot from embarrassment when he goes silent. You must sound ridiculous. “I’m not from around here, so I’m just staying with someone. I’m not sure about the address.” 

A chuckle rises from him that eases your shame just a bit. “Alrighty. Well, it’s a small town — tell me who you’re stayin’ with and I’m sure between the three of us here, we’ll know where to find ‘em.”

There’s a part of you that’s skeptical of that; but for a town so small and a pack so close-knit, maybe it’s possible. “Uh, sure. I stayed with Steve Rogers — the sheriff?”

The line goes silent again, this time so prolonged you think the call dropped. Then, the mechanic speaks up and you can almost swear he’s smiling. “No shit. I know exactly where that is, I can be there in fifteen? Maybe twenty? That work for you?”

 _“Well,_ I won’t be going anywhere, so that works perfectly.”

**—-**

The mechanic manages the trip in ten, when you glance out the window at the sound of an engine to see a dark blue tow truck stalking up Steve’s driveway. You come out to greet it just as the man driving climbs out and nearly gasp. He’s as handsome as Steve had been: piercing blue eyes, an angled, stubble-lined face, and deep brown hair gathered at his nape. There’s something familiar about him you can’t seem to place, but it’s out of sight and out of mind when he closes the distance with a wide smile. “Well, hi there – ‘m Bucky. Spoke to you on the phone.” You give him your name, to which he nods. “So, I’ll get your car down to the shop and we’ll take a look, see if we can’t fix you up today. You wanna come with me, or you staying at Stevi – uh, Steve’s for the day?”

You shake your head . “Nah, I can come with - I was planning to head out of town today anyway, so I’m hoping I can just head out from your garage.”

“Hop on in then.”

The ride with Bucky is surprisingly warm. He’s not exactly talkative, but he’s engaging; asking questions where he needs to, humming out his interest when he doesn’t. You get so settled into the flow of quiet radio and chatter that you don’t realize you’ve made it to his shop until the truck comes to a full stop. 

Barnes Garage sits at the corner of some of Amber’s End’s quieter streets. The large lot outside has a few cars parked with a path between them for new ones to be driven into the workshop. Bucky’s pulled your Jeep right into that path, though he’s stopped halfway between the curb and the garage building. “It’ll take me maybe a half hour to really dig in — you can stick around or explore, it’s up to you, but I’ll let you out here.”

You climb out with a nod, thanking him before nodding towards the streets behind you. “I’ll probably head out - grab a few more things before I go. See you in thirty?” 

For the second time in as many days, you’re exploring Main Street, this time with an eye out for the stores you didn’t visit the day before. There aren’t many, to be frank, so after the first few, you take to stopping in on some of the people you’ve met already. They seem surprised to see you again, but take advantage of your presence to tell you more about themselves, the town, their wares. 

You realize quickly that none of the stories about Amber’s End really do it justice. It’s quainter than what you’re used to, sure, but there’s so much history there. It’s romantic almost - like the first turn of an old book or light filtering into a tea shop. 

You think you’ll miss it when you leave, even if just for a little while.

When you get back to the shop, you’re a few souvenirs richer and have something nice to give Steve on your way out of town as well. Bucky is sitting at a computer - the model recognizably old but reliable like the rest of the town. He perks up at the sight of you, already waving before you make it all the way in the door and pull your scarf from around your face. “So,” he starts, walking to your car with a hand under his chin. “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news.”

You grimace. “Ok — good news first.”

“Well, I know what’s wrong with the car. The starter motor,” he taps a finger on the hood over the spot where the part lives, “is out. Completely done. But, we can get a part delivered here to get you back on the road.”

“Okay,” you eye him suspiciously. “Then, what’s the bad news?”

“Lookin’ at the places we get our parts from, they’re all outta stock for the model you’ve got. The soonest the part could be here is in a month, and even that might be generous with all the storms lately.” As if pre-empting your shock, he hands over an invoice to confirm it.

Seeing it written out, plain as day, makes you grimace. Staying anywhere for a whole month (or more) had never been in the cards; but, there’s no way you can afford a new car either - you were just barely making it through with the money you’ve budgeted as is. You take a long, hard look at the estimate Bucky’s handed you before taking a deep breath to gather your thoughts. “Okay,” you start slowly, “so how does this work? If I decide to wait for the part.”

He gestures to the door behind you that leads to the lot from earlier. “We have a reserve lot - it’s where we keep all the cars that are waiting on a part for service. I’d keep your car here - free of charge - until the part comes, then we fix ‘er up. You’d pay for the part now and the fix later, when we call you to make sure it all looks good.”

You nod, glancing up from the sheet briefly before looking back at the part expense. It isn’t bad in the grand scheme of things - certainly cheaper than a used car that’ll just give up on you in a few months anyway. But, it will be a good chunk of what you’d set aside for your trip and if you’re staying put for the month, there’s no way you can afford to do it without really settling in. Job and all. “Okay - let’s do it.”

“Sounds good.” Bucky’s eyes are full of sympathy as he watches you; from what little you’d told him in the ride over, being stuck in one place is the last thing you wanted right now. “You want me to get you to Steve? He’ll have some good ideas for what you can do next.”

The nervous knots that’ve been building since the conversation started uncoil some at the mention of the other Alpha, though you try your best to ignore it with another nod to Bucky. “That would be great.”

**—-**

The sheriff’s station is small but busy when you walk in. Bucky trails ahead of you, walking with purpose that surprises you. At first, you chalk it up to the town being so small — maybe there’s an open door policy for the residents. But, then you notice the way deputies and junior deputies let him by without even batting an eye. The ones who do simply nod, offering a smile while Bucky walks right past them and reception into Steve’s open office door. 

“Buck?” You can hear ahead of him. “What are you doing here..?” It dawns on you then that they must know each other; intimately, judging by the nickname and the pure ease that Bucky has as he maneuvers the station.

You hesitate to interrupt their moment, but Bucky’s response to Steve’s question is to angle himself so you can be seen from behind him. That’s when Steve notices you and you wave with a sheepish smile. “He brought me, actually - my car’s broken down and I don’t think I’ll be able to leave for a bit. I wanted to make sure you knew before you came home and found me still there…”

Your presence brings Steve to his feet and you notice that he’s in his sheriff’s uniform for the first time. Somehow, he seems more comfortable in it than the casual wear you’ve seen him in so far, but there’s no denying that he looks just as good. “Hey – you don’t have to worry about that, I wouldn’t just kick you out. I’m sorry to hear about the car, though - anything I can do to help?” 

“Unless there’s a way the local sheriff’s office can put a little muscle on an auto-parts dealer,” you tease, drawing a snort from Bucky beside you, “I think I’m okay. I’m hoping we can talk more about where I should stay when you get back, though?” 

“Sounds good to me.”

With your big news out in the open, you turn on your heel to leave, but pause as another thought strikes you. “Actually, one thing I could use some help with: know of anyone hiring?”

Steve’s face turns pensively and you can see his mind working for an answer. “Not that I can think of, no…,” he offers, a little remorse in his tone, “but you know what? Most places are willin’ if you know who to talk to. How about Bucky take you around? See what you find?”

After giving his instructions to a suspiciously enthusiastic Bucky, Steve turns his attention back to you. You expect to see pity, but there’s nothing there but genuine concern. You feel a little warmth from it, like you’re protected just by standing in front of him, and wonder if this is how everyone in his pack must feel. “I’ll be back late today, so you can feel free to eat without me. Bucky will take care of you until then and help you talk to some folks about a job. You call me if you need me.” He brandishes a business card from a holder on his desk and pencils his cell number on the back before handing it over. “If you’re still awake when I get in, we can talk about your living situation. Otherwise, settle in for one more night and we’ll talk in the morning.”

**—-**

Over the rest of the day, Bucky takes you to a few shops with vacancies: pharmacy, market, the doctor’s office. Nothing seems to strike a chord for you, though, and you start to grow dejected, anticipating yet another job you have to work out of necessity.

Then, Bucky pulls into the gravel lot of a tavern.

Widow’s Den is the name carved in large wooden blocks over the front door, and despite the afternoon hour, there are a few cars parked in front of it. When you duck inside, a group of older men and women sit, talking over beers.

A tall, broad man is working the bar, his laughter booming over a pop song you haven’t heard in years. Beside you, Bucky beams, scent thickening at the sight, and you realize quickly that this must be the person behind the ring on his left hand and the soft pink mark on the right side of his neck. His mate. It’s adorable to see — this charismatic alpha unraveled at one glimpse of the man he loves. 

“Babe,” Bucky chimes for the bartender’s attention as you approach the bartop. Not that he needs to, though; it’s obvious in the way his scent spikes that he’s long since noticed Bucky’s presence and you nearly coo at that too. “Nat in the back?”

“Yeah,” he responds, not looking your way yet as he finishes pouring a drink. “Doing inventory, I think.” Once the drink’s delivered, he offers his full attention and that’s when he notices you. “Who’s this?”

Bucky grins, smile taking on a boyish quality as he slings an arm around your shoulders. “New girl, looking for a job. Her car’s in the shop with me now, so she’s staying with our lovely _sheriff_ until it gets fixed up.” 

The bartender’s intrigue is immediate, eyes widening before he grins slyly — as if privy to a secret you’re not — and folds arms over his chest. The pose accentuates the corded muscle along his arms and chest and you have to stop yourself from sighing. Is there anyone in this town that isn’t woefully in shape? “You’re kiddin’. With Steve?” You have more questions than you know what to do with, but there’s no time to think about asking one when his hand is thrust your way. “Well, then, nice to meet you, girlie. I’m Sam.” 

The smile he offers you is welcoming, and you forget about the odd focus on your staying with Steve (it isn’t even official yet!) to accept his hand. When you share your name in return, the smile widens and he tips his head towards the stretch of hallway by the other end of the bar. “Head on back to talk to Nat – Bucky can show you the way.”

The brunet rests a hand to your back, pausing only to give Sam a quick kiss over the bar before he takes you towards the back hallway. The vibe in this half of the building is noticeably different. Homey, like the staircase at Steve’s cabin. You recognize many of the same faces in these pictures as the ones back at Steve’s. Bucky’s against Sam’s shoulder, Steve head and shoulders over the rest. There are a few where he’s even bare faced, looking eons younger than he does now, but not a smidgen less intense, and you work out easily that they’ve all been friends for some time, maybe even since puphood.

It’s admirable to you, maybe even enviable too. You have friends from that age as well, but the unforgiving pace of city life had made it hard to stay close. The smiles in the bar’s pictures, in comparison, speak to nothing but growing bonds, year after year.

You can’t help but smile too.

“This way.” Bucky’s voice brings you out of your thoughts and into a half-cracked doorway. The room is cluttered, stacked with boxes and bottles. And in the center of the chaos is a woman with striking red hair, pulled up and out of her face. Her aura holds a candle to Steve’s; far-reaching, imposing, and immediate. There’s no mistaking her as anything but an Alpha, and when her eyes leave the clipboard she’s holding to focus on you instead, you struggle against the instinctive need to bow into yourself. But, years of Wall Street’s brutal pace (that cares very little for rank) steel you. You see something akin to amusement flash in her eyes when you meet her gaze head-on.

“What did I tell you about bringing in strays, James?” Her tone is level, but the words have no real bite. You look up at Bucky warily still, who reassures you with a little smile.

“This one’s not a stray — not really, anyway.” He loops an arm around your shoulder again and you can tell the familiarity intrigues Nat. “She’s new in town - staying for a month or two until I can get her car squared up, so we’re hopin’ to find her a place to work.”

“Just a couple? That’s not a long time — I mean, by the time you get settled in, you’re gonna be out of here.” A valid concern; one that the other shop owners had shared when Bucky told them your predicament. There isn’t much you can say to ease the worry, but it turns out you don’t have to. Nat turns the rest of the way to set her scrutinizing gaze on you properly and the look compels you to stay put; almost as if you’re presenting yourself to her. A stretch of silence sets in and the longer it goes, the more convinced you are that she’s about to reject you outright. Then, she clicks her tongue. “Hm. We don’t need much right now, but I could throw you a couple bucks if you want to help us bus tables or something. This is the only spot to really drink in town, so we could always use the help on busy nights.”

You’re so relieved you could kiss her, but you don’t need superhuman instinct to know that would not go well. You settle instead for a wide smile, the sort that’s contagious to the Alphas in the room who start beaming with you. “That would work for me!”

“Good,” she grins, setting her clipboard aside to cross her arms, “now to celebrate our new arrival.”

**—-**

You spend the rest of the day at Widow’s Den, getting to know Sam, Bucky, and Natasha over glasses of their best liquor. They confirm your suspicion that they’ve known each other for some time: Steve and Bucky are lifelong friends, brought together by a schoolyard fight started by a Steve who wasn’t even half the other boys’ heights. Meanwhile, Sam and Natasha came into the fray during high school years, transfers from their deep South and Russian hometowns respectively. But, they folded into the fabric of the boyhood duo easily and had been a foursome ever since.

You still don’t know where Sam and Bucky’s relationship turned romantic, but there’s an ease there that makes you guess it has been a while. Natasha, like you, is unmarked, but it’s rare for Alphas to do that anyway. You’re curious to learn more about her in particular. 

As time moves on, the bar fills more and more and you get a glimpse of what your life will be like for the next few weeks. The crowd is certainly diverse - people of all ages filing in with friends or on their own. In an odd way, there’s two bars existing in one - young and old, energetic chatter and introspective talk. 

By the time you leave, you’re a little tipsy and Bucky guides you out with a hand on your back. So far, you haven’t come across any other omega in their circle, and you wonder if his constant touch is a result of that instinct to protect you. The conversation on the ride back to Steve’s flows more freely now that you’ve spent so much time together and when he drops you off, he surprises you with an offer for a hug. When he glimpses that surprise, he laughs. “None of that now - you’ll be seeing a lot of me from now on, so we’re friends, sweetheart.” 

You laugh and step into his arms - you suppose he’s right.

**—-**

It’s near one in the morning when Steve finally comes home. His midnight patrol had been as uneventful as usual —- a blessing, he thinks, considering how distracted he’d been during the run. His wolf is restless, agitated by the thought of this new omega being around longer than expected. He found his thoughts trailing to her during his time in the woods, particularly as he passed the quarry he’d found her in, and there was an eagerness to find out how the rest of the day with Bucky had gone.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little nervous. His friend, dear as he is, can be a handful, even for him. 

When he comes in, he’s shocked to find you still awake in the living room, a mug of what smells like herbal tea in your hand as you flip through a book from his shelf. You look up at him from the book, a dopey smile to your face, and that’s when the other, underlying smell on you hits. Alcohol — something woody that’s familiar. He guesses Bucky must’ve taken you to Widow’s Den, which would explain why you’re still up at this time.

“Hey,” he speaks up, nodding at you, “couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head, book forgotten as you cradle your tea with your other hand. “It’s been a busy night - still a bit wired!” 

Fair, he thinks. “Tell me about it - did it go well with Buck?”

You start to ramble about the day - the places you tried, the time at Widow’s Den, the offer from Nat you ultimately accepted. He tries not to tense too visibly, but he can’t hide the way his scent sharpens the way it often does when an Alpha is on edge. He can see the impact it has on you instantly; the way your excitement slows and your eyes dart to try and pick out what caused it.

He reassures you - or does his best to - with a smile, urging you on. He won’t explain this yet, but the crowd at Widow’s Den can be rowdy when they want to be, especially when they’re from out of town. Nat and Sam will show you the ropes — and step in where they have to — so you’ll be in good hands; but he wouldn’t be Steve if he didn’t worry. You’re the newest wolf in town now — a part of his pack, even if just for a short while.

When you’re done recapping the day, his smile grows, the gesture deliberately wide to make up for his worry catching you off-guard. “Well, I’m glad to hear it went well - Nat and Sam are good people, they’ll take care of you.”

“I believe it.” You pause, running a finger along the rim of your mug. “Which reminds me, I… I don’t have to stay here. Once I start working, I think I’ll be able to check in at the Hummingbird, see if that room’s opened up.”

Steve gives you the same stern look from the diner and you almost giggle at the sight. It’s hard to see the same intimidating alpha now that you’ve heard a little about him from his friends. “Come on - what kind of pack leader would I be if I kicked you out now?” He stands from the couch, eyes – and stomach – starting to turn towards the kitchen. “I won’t stop you if you prefer the motel, of course, but the offer to stay here will be open until your car’s ready to go.” 

“Are you sure…?”

His stern face softens, giving way to another smile. “Positive - don’t worry about it, okay?” 

After the last twenty four hours, it’s hard to doubt his capacity for kindness, but reassurance is always appreciated. You thank him one last time as he stalks into the kitchen, wishing you a good night, and when your tea is finished, you pad up to the guest bedroom with your chest feeling as warm as your tummy. 

As you finally doze, it’s with a head full of excitement; like a kid the night before a field trip. You didn’t expect it, sure, but you’re ready, anticipant, for the start of your life for the next two months.


End file.
